The Billionaire Duke
(The Billionaire Duke, #1)
Publication date: January 31st 2016
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance
Once a duke’s enough…
SEATTLE’S SECOND HOTTEST BILLIONAIRE JUST GOT HOTTER
American billionaire and Flashionista cofounder Riggins Feldhem’s life is exactly the way he likes it. Until a visit from a British solicitor turns everything upside down. Riggins has just inherited a dukedom complete with a large British estate, an aristocratic title, and the obligation to marry and produce an heir. With a woman his predecessor, the Dead Duke, has selected for him. A woman who uncomfortably stirs his jaded heart. But no one is going to force him into marriage. There has to be a way out of this mess.
Haley Hamilton is young, just out of college, and looking for a hero. Riggins could give her everything. Or completely break her heart. She doesn’t want to be anyone’s forced duchess. But the Dead Duke and Riggins’ irresistible charm are making it impossible to resist.
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I needed time to check the facts and make sure what Thorne was alleging was actually true. “What does the Dead Duke want from me?”
I was buying time. If what Thorne said was true, there had to be a workaround.
“That you do your duty. It’s all in that envelope. In short, however, he wants you to do what all good dukes must do—marry and produce a male heir. And a spare would be nice, though not required under the terms the late duke specified. Though I believe there may be a bonus for one.”
I snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding? This is the twenty-first century!”
Thorne sat calmly, legs still crossed. “The late duke had no sense of humor. He didn’t joke, I assure you.”
“What are the terms?” I said as I frantically tried to find an out. “I assume there’s a timeline?”
I sure as hell would have made a timeline. It was time to start thinking like my adversary.
“The late duke specified that you must be married by midnight of the date one month from the date of his death. In this case, Valentine’s Day.”
“Pacific Standard Time, I hope.” I tried to keep calm and match Thorne’s demeanor while I plotted a way to escape this fate. “I would hate to be caught by a technicality.”
“Exactly so, Pacific Standard Time.”
“I’m not even seeing anyone. What does the Dead Duke want me to do? Advertise for a bride?” I laughed. The whole situation was ridiculous.
“Surely, Your Grace, getting a bride shouldn’t be a difficulty for Seattle’s Second Hottest Bachelor?” He had the traces of a tease in his voice.
Did Thorne actually have a sense of humor?
Damn that magazine article that was sitting open on my table. Thorne must have been able to read upside down.
“Less than a month isn’t even enough time for a bride-to-be to get a decent wedding gown, let alone plan a wedding. Assuming there was already a
bride-to-be.” I shook my head. “The Dead Duke wants me to snap up just any bride?”
I snorted, losing my amusement at the situation. There were adventures. And there were disasters. This was shaping up to be the latter. “He’s not as discriminating as I would have expected about the mother of his future heirs!
“Isn’t a year more traditional and a more reasonable amount of time to find a wife? If there’s ever a timeline stipulated in stories and movies, it’s always a year. What’s the damn hurry?” I was hoping to buy some time.
“I’m a young man,” I argued. “I need more than a damn month to find the right girl and fall in love.” Not that that seemed likely. “Even a matchmaking service will need more than that.”
Thorne nodded. “I appreciate your concerns. The late duke was a cautious man. Because you are the last male Feldhem, there is no time. If something should happen to you…”
He let the unsaid hang in the air a moment. “Being in love has never been a prerequisite for aristocratic British marriages. Lineage, breeding, family name, and money are much more important.”
I sighed, heavily, wondering how I could outwit him.
“Once again, you underestimate the late duke,” Thorne said. “He was supremely concerned about the mother of his continuing line. Before his death, he, in essence, picked out your bride.”
“What the hell!”
Thorne ignored my outburst. “The late duke wants his bloodline to merge with his American first wife’s, as he believes it should have in the first place. His will stipulates you must marry a single, childbearing woman from her line.” He paused. “There is only one woman left who meets the requirements.”
Of course there is. Fantastic. An arranged marriage. What’s next?
“So who is this woman?” I said, hoping she would be as against marrying a stranger as I was. And not a complete mess.
Gina Robinson is the bestselling and award-winning author of the popular Switched at Marriage, Billionaire Duke, and Billionaire Matchmaker romantic comedy series, featuring a billionaire in a surprising marriage of convenience, a billionaire who inherits a British dukedom, and a playboy billionaire in business with a Manhattan matchmaker, the Reckless and Rushed contemporary new adult romance series, and the Agent Ex series of humorous romantic suspense novels. Her books have delighted readers and received praise in Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and Romantic Times Book Reviews.
She writes romance and women’s fiction across a wide variety of subgenres—new adult, contemporary, historical, romantic suspense and romantic comedy.
Her love stories are infused with a happy blend of romance, adventure, a bit of mystery, and humor. Readers are drawn to the light touch she gives even serious topics and the fast, fun, easy-to-read pace of her books. From college campus to Seattle to Las Vegas to England, her settings become almost characters of their own, driving the story.
She believes in the power of true love and passion, and that every great romance should have a happily-ever-after.
To keep informed of her new releases, sign up for her mailing list at http://www.ginarobinson.com
Publication date: April 4th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romantic Comedy
It started as a promise.
A momentary lapse in sanity had me agreeing to two months of celibacy.
Then Mark Bishop showed up. My new boss was cocky, arrogant, and unfortunately, sexy as hell.
My first mistake?
Thinking I would last two months.
The Mistakes – A Sexy Office Romance
Book III in the Off-Limits Series – Winnie and Mark’s story.
Dual POV. Can be read as a standalone.
Warning: This story contains mature humor, a lot of cursing, and of course, sexual situations. It’s intended for adult readers who enjoy that kind of thing.
“So you’re saying I have to give up all the dicks?”
“Yeah. All the dicks. That’s my price.”
I sighed. “For how long?”
She pressed her lips together. “Two months.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Two months!”
“Yep. Just to give yourself time to D-tox,” she quipped, over-annunciating the D.
I grinned and shook my head. “That’s cute. You think that all up on your own?”
She chuckled. “Clearly I’ve been hanging out with you way too much.”
“Problem?” he asked, looking down at me as he sheathed his perfect erection.
I turned back to the desk and shook my head. “Uh-huh.”
I nodded. “No, it’s fine. I just… forgot how big you are. You sure you wouldn’t rather have a blow job?”
He leaned into me again, his lips against my ear. “Believe me, as much as I’ve fantasized about shoving my dick in your mouth to shut you up, I’m not entirely convinced you wouldn’t bite it off.”
Hocker of smut, drinker of wine, and more often than not- #NSFW.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee
(Shopping for a Billionaire #6)
Publication date: February 26th 2015
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance
All of our best dates end up in the emergency room….
I planned the perfect proposal. Plenty of lobster, caviar, champagne and–her favorite–tiramisu. The perfect setting. The perfect woman. The perfect everything.
Dad gave me my late mother’s engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore. Shannon wouldn’t care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond designed to impress. But my future mother-in-law, Marie, will pass out when she sets eyes on that rock, which will give us two minutes of blessed silence. That woman talks more than Kim Kardashian flashes her naked backside on the internet.
I was going to make it perfect, from the color of the tablecloth to the freshness of the roses. And it was perfect.
Until Shannon swallowed the ring.
* * *
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancée gives near-billionaire Declan McCormick the chance to tell his story in this continuation of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series.
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Shannon has a key to my place, and as I walk in the door I see candlelight. Flickering flame is to a man what Ben & Jerry’s is to a woman.
A sign of a sure thing.
“Shannon?” I call out, following the disorganized scatter of lit candles in the living room. Shadows dance on the wall in my hallway, and I round the corner to my bedroom to find her, spread out on my bed, wearing garters, stockings, the red corset, and—
That’s okay. I can work with asleep.
I can’t work with absent.
You’d be surprised how fast a man can undress when under the complete control of testicles so full they look like a case of mumps. I’m out of my clothes in seventeen seconds or so (who’s counting?) and on the bed, my hands taking in her prone body. I’m allowed to touch. We have an unwritten rule. It goes something like this:
It’s a simple rule.
Her skin is so soft, my fingers scraping against the rolling contour of her inner thigh, from knee to heaven. The whorls of ridges on my fingertips feel like raw sandpaper against her porcelain flesh. My breathing slows, eyes adjusting to the dim light, taking in her body. How did I ever get so lucky?
From Toilet Girl to Mrs. McCormick in eighteen months.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down
(Up-Close and Personal Novella, #1)
Publication date: February 9th 2017
Genres: Comedy, Erotica, Romance
WATCH OUT, FOXY POO. THIS BOMBSHELL IS ABOUT TO DROP.
Ladies, I think I speak for the majority of us on the face of the planet when I say we all have that guy who’s grown on us like a delicious fungus. You know the kind I’m talking about–maybe he is your high school teacher or best friend’s dad–some piece of man candy so hot and edible that no matter what you do, you can’t get his taste off your mind (even if you haven’t tasted him yet).
For me, that guy is my big brother’s best friend, one Fox Montgomery. Doctor. Professor. Author.
Here’s the problem though: not only is he the most gorgeous male specimen I’ve ever laid eyes on–black hair, steely grey eyes, and a lower lip you just wanna suck–he’s also a rich academic prick. AND I HATE HIM.
I hadn’t seen him in years, and when I finally did, the vision before me bought a one-way ticket to my personal pleasure town. Then, his beautiful eyes roamed all over me, and I knew–I knew!–he didn’t like what he saw.
Yeah, I’m a big girl, curvy, smooth, and round in all the right places. I’m also covered in tats, and six-inch heels are my go-to footwear. So, let me be frank about something: I’m sexy, and if I wanted a man, I’d have one.
Yet, with one look, Fox turned my years of longing and long-distance eye-f*cking into a big ole mountain of hate.
Here’s the thing, girls: hate and love are effin evil twins. And if my heart gets its way, Doctor Fox and I are going to end up participating in some very strenuous sextracurricular activities. Here’s to our chemistry getting an A+.
*This is a stand-alone novella that is the opener of the Up-Close & Personal series. It’s hilarious and dirty and raunchy and perfectly short enough to be read in a single sitting. That’s what Kellie Hart delivers: pocket-sized smut with a capital P! *wink wink* And you’ll never finish a story without a total HEA! Due to adult content, however, Kellie suggests you be 18+ before getting your kicks on Route Sexty-Six. Trust me: you wouldn’t want your kids reading this, you dirty girl, you.
“OH MY GOD, JACQUE! YOU are smokin’. I’d fuck you if I had a dick,” Char, my best friend, croons from her perch on the side of my bed.
I look down to my ample bosom in the dress Char dragged me to buy after my last class let out today. Knowing me for years, she knew she couldn’t just take me to the Riverwalk and set me loose to find something I’d actually want to wear to a frat party. Instead, she’d hauled me to The Laveau Closet, my favorite little resale shop on Rue Saint Pierre. We searched the racks for at least an hour before the number I’m wearing now spoke to me. I’d slipped it on in the dressing room, and when I stepped out, Char screamed, threw her credit card at the woman helping us, and bought the dress before I could protest. I guess growing up in a life of privilege does that to you—lets you think you can buy whatever, whenever. Honestly, I would have purchased the piece myself. Of course, I would have handed over my debit card with a grimace and a thousand reasons not to do so running through my head; nothing I own is brand-new… It never has been, but Char is right. I do look amazing.
Setting hands on my hips, I turn to face my reflection one last time, and Char grins like a psychotic cat over my shoulder.
“You’re so getting laid tonight!” she squeals.
Char scoops Snots the Incontinent Chihuahua from the bed before approaching me. Sighing, she wraps her arms around me in an unsolicited hug. We hold Snots in front of us in our cupped hands, our eyes meeting in the mirror.
“But seriously, Jacque, I’m not making you do anything you don’t want to do, am I?”
I smile and pat her cheek. Then I pet Snots, too, when he whimpers for attention. My eyes move from my breasts lifted skyward in the strapless A-line dress, to my waist cinched in by a red patent belt, down to the tops of my garters I can just make out beneath the black silk hem. I look good. I feel good. And I want the fucking world to know it.
“No,” I tell Char before pecking her forehead. “I need to get my mind off of everything–exams, the fact I’m not going home for Christmas…and Fox, too. I need this. I want this.”
“Halle-fucking-lujah!” Char cheers after tossing Snots back on the bed. “It’s about damn time!”
She spins and takes my hands before dancing me around my bedroom. We giggle like the teenagers we aren’t anymore and fall on the bed in a fit of hysterics. I pity the elderly couple who live below us in our rented two-story rowhouse. My heels on the floor and, now, the squeaking of my old iron bed must sound like a herd of elephants coming through. And, as if on cue, Mrs. Lafourche beats the ceiling with her broom.
“Get the hell on out for the evenin’, girls!” her voice barks through the floor…or her ceiling. “Robert is trying to sleep off the whiskey!”
Char and I muffle our laughter with pillows until I can answer, “Of course, Mrs. Lafourche. I don’t want to disturb you anymore tonight!”
“When you get the D, think of me,” Mrs. Lafourche answers; then, someplace downstairs, a door slams, and she continues cursing at a presumably dozing Robert.
I hop to my feet and pull Char with me. “What’re you waiting on? You heard her. Take me to get the D.”
Char straightens her silver mini dress, fluffs her curls, then stares at me, deadpan. “More beautiful words have never left your mouth, Jacque.”
I gather my clutch, we link arms, and out the door we go with Snots clicking along behind us.
Publication date: March 14th 2017
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
A fresh twist on a classic story, Bellamy and the Brute proves true love really is blind.
When Bellamy McGuire is offered a summer job babysitting for the wealthy Baldwin family, she’s reluctant to accept. After all, everyone in town knows about the mysterious happenings at the mansion on the hill—including the sudden disappearance of the Baldwin’s eldest son, Tate. The former football star and golden boy of Wellhollow Springs became a hermit at the age of sixteen, and no one has seen or heard from him since. Rumors abound as to why, with whisperings about a strange illness—one that causes deformity and turned him into a real-life monster. Bellamy wants to dismiss these rumors as gossip, but when she’s told that if she takes the job, she must promise to never, ever visit the third floor of the mansion, she begins to wonder if there really is some dark truth hidden there.
Tate’s condition may not be the only secret being kept at Baldwin House. There are gaps in the family’s financial history that don’t add up, and surprising connections with unscrupulous characters. At night there are strange noises, unexplained cold drafts, and the electricity cuts out. And then there are the rose petals on the staircase. The rose petals that no one but Bellamy seems to be able to see. The rose petals that form a trail leading right up to the 3 rd floor, past the portrait of a handsome young man, and down a dark hallway where she promised she would never, ever go…
As Bellamy works to unravel the mysteries of Baldwin House and uncover the truth about Tate, she realizes that she is in way over her head… in more ways than one. Can her bravery and determination help to right the wrongs of the past and free the young man whose story has captured her heart?
Perched on the balls of my feet, I wriggled my skirt farther down my thighs and mentally scolded myself for not dressing for this covert operation. “Can you hear anything?”
Squatted beside me, Aubrey blew a stray lock of hair—which had slipped free from her messy bun—out of her face. “Nothing over the flapping wings of my last shred of dignity fluttering away.”
“Stop complaining.” Brushing mulch from my palms, I peeked over the three-foot shrub in hopes of getting a glimpse of Matthew and Greta. Lurking around the castle made it easy to listen in on them undetected … until they wandered into the hedge maze. Our only logical plan—and I’m playing it fast and loose on the use of that word—was to follow them in and crouch out of sight. “As my best friend, you are required to love me and commit senseless acts alongside me in support of my lunacy. It was in the fine print of our friendship clause.”
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Aubrey tried to find a more comfortable way to maintain her hunkered posture. “I’m kneeling in foliage and lack the know-how to pick poison ivy out of a lineup of daisies. I think we need to take a second to appreciate the level of love actually happening here.”
“Shh!” I stabbed my finger to her lips to hush her, only to have her swat my hand away. “They’re coming this way! Go! Around that bend! Go-go-go-go!”
“Working the quads, and the bum,” Aubrey quietly coached herself, leading us in a duck-waddle to a more concealed spot. “You know, if they had one of those tall mazes like in The Shining we could stroll around at a leisurely pace. What we have here is a lack of proper shrubbery.”
“Talk less and shuffle faster!” I goaded in an urgent hiss, Mateo’s voice swelling behind me.
Exactly what he was saying couldn’t be deciphered over the crunches of twigs and bark under our hurried steps. Toddling around the corner, I slammed into Aubrey’s back when she came to an abrupt stop.
Rocking back and forth, she turned to face me, alarm stitching her eyebrows tight to her hairline. “It’s a dead-end!”
“What do you mean dead-end? Find a way out!”
“I don’t think you’re understanding the concept of a dead-end. There is no way out.”
Shoving my way around her, I wobbled on cramping legs to investigate for myself. I pressed my palms into the manicured greenery, ignoring the branches scratching against my skin in my desperate search for a hidden passage. “Why would they block the exit?”
“Because it’s a maze?” Aubrey offered, glancing over her shoulder at the lighthearted lilt of Greta’s laughter riding in on a breeze.
Spinning around as fast as I could totter, I grabbed her hand in both of mine and squeezed hard enough to make her wince. “They can’t find us here! I am not meeting the possible future Mrs. Greta Cruz Queen of the World after popping out of a bush like a friggin’ jack-in-the-box!”
Aubrey pressed her lips into a thin line, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. “There’s a chance you’re overreacting.”
“Wh-what? I-I—” I stammered in full huff.
“Well said,” Aubrey replied with a sympathetic nod, keeping her tone calm and soothing. “If I may offer a counter point? These hedges are literally the height of a toddler. I could stand up, and find us a way out.”
“No!” Pulling her hand down to the ground, I rooted it there with me. “They can’t find us here! Please, don’t let them find us!”
“I think you’re confusing me with your other best friend that can harness the power of invisibility.”
RONE Award Winner for Best YA Paranormal Work of 2012 for Embrace, a Gryphon Series Novel
Young Adult and Teen Reader voted Author of the Year 2012
Turning Pages Magazine Winner for Best YA book of 2013 & Best Teen Book of 2013
Readers’ Favorite Silver Medal Winner for Crane 2015
Stacey Rourke is the author of the award winning YA Gryphon Series, the chillingly suspenseful Legends Saga, and the romantic comedy Reel Romance Series. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and two giant dogs. She loves to travel, has an unhealthy shoe addiction, and considers herself blessed to make a career out of talking to the imaginary people that live in her head.
Falling for Boston
Publication date: October 13th 2016
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
As the youngest of four, Dylan has always been the baby. But don’t let that fool you; she’s not your average baby sister. Growing up with three older brothers left Dylan with a lack of femininity and in its place, a real guy’s girl personality. Sports, beer, burping, you name it; but don’t even think about going near her feet with a pair of heels.
When Dylan meets Tyler Vaughn, the famous and devastatingly attractive football superstar at work one morning, she’s thrilled by his good stats, not his good looks. But the wide receiver—and sweet romantic—throws her for a loop when he pursues her despite what she knows is missing, her feminine charm.
Now Dylan must reconcile the fact that this guy may actually like her, and even scarier, she may like him back. Dylan speaks sports and sarcasm fluently but romance, now that’s something completely foreign to her. What’s an emotionally-allergic guy’s girl supposed to do with a hopeless romantic?
“What?” I asked, concerned.
But he didn’t answer. Actually, he did, but not with words. He gently rubbed his hand over my bump before he slid it down brushing my cheek with his thumb and slid his hand back around my neck.
I didn’t know what to expect, I was so surprised by the intimacy of his touch and the wild beating of my heart in my chest at his closeness. Whereas this would be the part where I’d crack a joke to break the tension, I couldn’t even think. My brain was blank, barely registering the way his hands felt on my skin or the sight of him so close to my face. Formulating words were beyond me.
He slowly closed the distance between us. His other hand rose up and slipped it into my hair same as the first before he gently leaned down, stealing the lightest whisper-soft kiss.
He didn’t linger, it felt like the kiss was over in the blink of an eye. But even despite the brevity, I still felt like I had been given a swift kick in the chest. My heart was beating a frantic rhythm, and I was winded like I had just run an all-out sprint.
He pulled back enough so I could look up into those blue eyes of his that were so light that you could still make them out in the dark. His hands were still holding me, and my own hands were gripping his shirt tightly, clinging to him for balance.
What the hell just happened?
“What,” I stuttered, unable to speak because he’d annihilated my senses.
“I wanted to wait, to give you time. But tonight, watching you, and hearing you laugh, I just couldn’t stop myself. I had to kiss you,” Vaughn said, his words feathering over my skin.
“Oh,” I said, still stunned. I was still missing something. I continued to look at him, my brain misfiring. I couldn’t get it to work, I just stood there mindlessly.
Vaughn leaned down again, my stomach clenching in nervous anticipation. But this time, he only pressed a kiss to my forehead.
He finally stepped away from me, but he was smiling again. The seriousness that had been on his face earlier was wiped clean just like a Magna Doodle. “I better go.”
“Okay,” I answered breathlessly. My heart had yet to slow down. Vaughn chuckled quietly. “Goodnight, Dylan.” “Goodnight, Vaughn,” I whispered, unmoving.
“This is the part where you go inside,” he said, his smile widening. “Uh-huh,” I nodded stupidly.
Vaughn laughed before taking my keys out of my hand. He unlocked the door for me and gently pushed me through.
I looked back at him again, trying to riffle through the scores of information that had entered my brain in the last ten minutes but had yet to be processed.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said smiling. He gave me a quick wave before he walked away.
I numbly walked up the stairs. It wasn’t until I was inside my apartment, sitting on my bed that my brain finally started working again.
I touched my fingers to my lips, the phantom feel of Vaughn’s moving against them still lingering.
He kissed me.
This whole time I had been convinced that I’d get over my crush eventually. I’d been sure that this was just a friendship, nothing more. But I was wrong.
Slippy? Slappy? Swanson? Samsonite, I had been way off. I smiled. He kissed me.
Well, that changed everything.
Leslie Kate, despite growing up in Upstate New York, is crazy about everything Boston. She attended the University of Massachusetts Amherst where she studied sports broadcasting. There, her lifelong Boston sports addiction blossomed into the fanatic she is today.
Having dabbled with the idea of writing a book since high school, she finally put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and wrote her first book, “Falling for Boston,” where she combined her passion for the written word with her passion for sports and the City of Champions.
Aside from being a sports nut, Leslie Kate love reading (much to the chagrin of her boyfriend), movies, music, and being active (she’s a spinning instructor at her gym.)
She also loves cooking, but not cleaning; dogs, but not cats; and shoes, but not purses or jewelry. She owns one pair of Christian Louboutins that she sometimes just wears around the house because she likes to look at them.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Honeymoon
Publication date: January 31st 2017
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
He is addicted to his phone and his new role as CEO. I’m addicted to getting some on my own honeymoon.
One of these things is not like the other.
I am pretty sure a serial killer’s lair is the only place in the world where I could stash my new husband so he can’t manage the acquisition of our new company.
And that seems a little drastic.
But only a little…
All I want is one week alone with him. Hours in bed, legs tangled together in ecstasy, room service and long walks on the beach in Hawaii.
Not vying for his kisses around a Bluetooth microphone. The Borg aren’t sexy in real life.
So I’m taking matters into my own hands and hitting “reboot” on our honeymoon.
We’re going to a place so remote that no one can find us.
Not even my mother.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Honeymoon is now a full-length book of 150+ pages, with both Shannon and Declan’s points of view. Originally published with only Shannon’s viewpoint, this expanded edition is a result of reader feedback. People wanted to know what Declan was up to – so here you go. This book is meant to be read after Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife and/or Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancée, but if you read it out of order (or even as a standalone), that’s fine. Shannon and Declan forgive you.
Let’s do an inventory of this fine day. My day-after-I-got-married day. In Vegas.
After fleeing my Momzilla mother.
Today is supposed be Day One of my honeymoon after marrying the billionaire of my dreams.
(Let’s not count the night before).
Woke up to the lovely sight of my husband’s tousled dark hair sliding down my torso so he could feast on me for breakfast.
Had actual breakfast in bed after room service delivered mixed berries, cream, bacon, and maple-soaked carrot-cake french toast, and the best damn coffee on the planet from the coffee chain I now own.
Made love with my delightful husband in the giant jetted bathtub in our suite. Turns out I’m as bendy as a Cirque du Soleil performer when I need to be. Maybe Mom’s insistence that I attend all those yoga classes she teaches has a silver lining after all.
Dressed and prepared to hop the corporate jet for Hawaii, kisses interspersed between readying ourselves for the trip. Undressed twice. Dressed twice. Declan insisted I not wear panties for the plane trip.
“But I’m already a member of the Mile High Club,” I’d protested.
“Not as a wife.”
He had a point.
Found his brother, my best friend, a former colleague and an Anterdec chauffeur all married to each other.
Notice something a little different about that last one?
Yeah. Me too.
Day One of my honeymoon had promise, but now? Now it’s a little too real.
We’re on the plane, settling into our seats, and I’m doing my best not to think about my poor best friend and her chaotic mess back at the Anterdec resort where Declan and I just spent nearly a week trying to figure out our entire life.
Which we did, successfully, to my utter surprise. After fleeing our wedding in a helicopter and lying to my Momzilla mother, we managed to get to Las Vegas, ensconced in a resort on the Vegas Strip that Declan had designed himself as an intern in college. By the time my crazy family caught up to us, we’d steeled ourselves for the inevitable fallout.
And got so much more than we expected, in more ways than one. We’re married now. Husband and wife.
That’s really all that matters.
That, and honeymoon sex.
Lots and lots and lots of honeymoon sex. It’s my wifely right to walk funny for the next few days.
And his husbandly duty to make it so.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
The Billionaire Escape Plan
(Friends with Benefits)
Publication date: June 17th 2016
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance
A sweet & spicy standalone romance from USA Today bestselling author Ember Casey.
Most girls dream of marrying a billionaire.
Me? I’d rather make fun of one. Especially if the billionaire in question is Alexander Grant.
Excuse me–Xander Grant. That’s right–the mega-hot entrepreneur who seems to top every magazine’s “Rich Eligible Bachelors” list these days.
To me, he’ll always be Alex–my childhood best friend. The guy who joined me on all sorts of wild teenage misadventures. The only person in our small town who understood me.
It’s been four years since I’ve seen Alex. But suddenly he’s back in our town at the exact same time my life is imploding around me.
We’ve both changed so much–I mean, the guy used to live in ripped jeans, and now he wears nothing but designer suits–but when I need it most, he offers me exactly the escape I need. A chance to run away from my life, if only for a few days.
I only hope my heart is prepared.
Alex steps toward me.
“You’re asking me to be your rebound guy?” he says. He stops just short of me, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.
“Not a rebound,” I say quickly. “As I’ve told you, that thing with Wes was over long ago. Just…”
I nod. “Just sex. Unless…unless you think our friendship couldn’t survive it.”
“Do you believe our friendship couldn’t survive it?”
Now it’s my turn to hesitate before answering. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought about it. I was more concerned with his opinion on the matter than my own.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe not. But our friendship has certainly survived a lot up to now. I mean, we haven’t lived in the same place for years and years. And you’ve seen me at my drunkest and stupidest—”
“And you’ve seen me at mine.”
“Exactly. And we survived a kiss, and now I’ve seen you naked, and…and…feel free to stop me at any point, because if I keep talking I’m probably only going to make this more embarrassing for both of us.” I raise my chin, looking up at him. “Have I scared you yet?”
“No,” he says. “But I’m still wondering if you’ve really thought this through.”
No, of course not. But again, it’s too late to unsay all of the things I’ve just said.
“You can tell me if you think it’s a terrible idea,” I say. “Or if you don’t want to. I swear I won’t get upset.” It’ll just be me and my ice and my fingers alone together forever and ever. I’m going to die alone with a bunch of cats.
He’s still far too close to me. I can see his chest rising and falling with his breaths, smell the scent of his soap on his skin.
“I’m not entirely sure two people can have sex without things getting complicated,” he says.
“Plenty of people seem to think that men and women can’t be friends either, and somehow we’ve managed it,” I point out. What are you doing, Mae? The more you argue for this, the more desperate you sound.
But Alex doesn’t seem to notice. “I suppose that’s true.”
I press my toes against the cool tiles of the floor. When am I allowed to escape to my room again? If he hasn’t said yes yet, he’s not going to—and him dragging this conversation out to spare my feelings is only making things weirder between us.
“I propose this,” he says slowly, softly. “We go over to that couch, and the moment you tell me to stop, we stop.”
I frown. “I don’t understand. Are you agreeing?”
“I’m merely suggesting that we don’t jump into anything too quickly. And that you stop me the moment you change your mind.”
And if I don’t change my mind? I want to ask. But I don’t. I’m not entirely sure what he means to do, but I want to find out.
He drops his hand from my face and instead takes my fingers in his. He leads me across the dark room toward the couch while I’m still trying to understand what his intentions are.
“Are you just humoring me?” I ask him. “If you don’t want to do this, Alex, you can just tell me. I know you have plenty of supermodels—”
“Maybe I’m just as curious as you are,” he says in that low rumble of his.
“About whether or not this would ruin our friendship. I suppose there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
Ember Casey is a USA Today bestselling author who lives in Atlanta, Georgia in a den of iniquity (or so she likes to tell people). She writes contemporary romances about sexy alpha billionaires, smokin’ hot Hollywood hunks, and adventurous bad boys.
When she’s not writing steamy romances, you can find her whipping up baked goods (usually of the chocolate variety), traveling (her bucket list is infinite), or generally causing trouble (because somebody has to do it).
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